I was so surprised with the wonderful reviews I recieved in the first chapter! Plus four favourites, seven alerts... This is the best reaction to any fanfic I wrote so far - thanks so much.

A special thanks to gaap237 for the long and awesome review. 15 reasons! Wow! I never expected all that. And I agree with the yacht part, as you'll find out soon enough... :) To Alice's Restaurant: I guess it'll be sort of a character study, but I just like to think of it as a story ALL ABOUT BRUCE. I have to admit that I'm getting tired of the Post-TDK Joker/Harley and Bruce/OC fics. No offense to their authors, but really, it's getting a little old. I'm not saying that they're bad stories, in fact, some of them are quite good. But none of them are what I view as a proper sequel to The Dark Knight. This is a Batman trilogy, everyone, Batman! Not Joker, not Harley Quinn, not OC, for heaven's sake! Batman!

Sorry for the outburst... I tend to get a little excited when it comes to the Bale/Nolan Batman trilogy.

Enough chitchat for now, I guess. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Two

Most people said that the days go by so quickly, but to Jim Gordon, time couldn't pass slower.

Every day was a challenge. His wife and daughter were still terribly shaken by Harvey Dent's kidnapping of them, while little Jimmy - God, Jimmy - seemed to be more angry than frightened. He wouldn't drop the subject of his father hunting the Batman, he started fights at school whenever someone called Batman a criminal, he sometimes cried, obviously remembering the gun that was held to his head by Dent, Batman collapsing, having taken a bullet, and Dent's body, sprawled at the bottom of the deep, dark hole. Gordon was surprised that Jimmy didn't have a mental breakdown, something of the sort - he had been put through so much. But then again, anger was powerful. And Jimmy was indeed angry. Gordon cringed at the thought of probably having to visit his son's teacher again at least one more time this week. All he could do was listen to the teacher as she told him that Jimmy seemed to be 'a rather unstable boy'.

"Perhaps the Batman hotline wasn't such a good idea, Commissioner." It was a sergeant telling him this.

"Why?" Asked Gordon.

"Well - " the man hesitated. "It's been two weeks, and we haven't made any progress... Frankly, there's just too many reports. Every single crime in the city is being blamed on the Batman. I don't know much about him, but I'm pretty sure he's human. He can't be in a hundred places at once. We just can't get his location, with all these calls pouring in. It's impossible. We haven't gotten any closer to catching him."

Gordon sighed. "Very well, then. Shut it off for tonight. I'll rethink it and give orders tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Will we be heading out?"

"Yeah. Get my team ready, dispatch the rest to their posts. I'll be out in five minutes." Gordon stood up as the cop left his office. He ran his fingers through his greying hair and rubbed his temple. The Batman search was going badly so far. It had already been three months since the death of Harvey Dent. Three months since Batman had become his enemy. Or at least, that was what Gordon was pretending to be true. It was killing him. No one else knew the truth - that Batman was the hero, Dent the villain. That Batman had been shot to save the Gordons, that Dent was the murderer. That Dent had killed four people (Gordon found out later that Anna Ramierez was still alive). He wanted to tell the everybody, anybody, that Batman was innocent - more than innocent.

But that would be the same thing as betraying the masked man. It was what he had wanted to happen. "Gotham needs its true hero..." Gordon could never forget those words, almost whispered into the dark night. This was why he respected Batman more than anyone else in the world. The sacrifices he had made for Gotham were endless. Gordon was ashamed about thinking him a nut in the beginning. He couldn't think of any man alive who would be willing to beat up, be beaten up every single night for a city like Gotham. In fact, Gordon had ceased to believe that Batman was a human being. He was a creature of the night, a symbol. Gordon just couldn't stand the thought of Batman actually being a man. The poor soul... The strain, both physical and mental, would be extreme. How could anyone endure it? Gordon didn't know how Batman was faring, not any more - he hadn't talked to him in weeks. The risks were just too great. He only knew that his men had become very close in catching him, more than two weeks ago. There had been an awful lot of blood on the rooftop they had investigated the following morning, which was, in Gordon's opinion, too contaminated for analysis. He sincerely hoped that Batman was alive and well.

"Commissioner?" The voice made him jump.

"I'm coming." Gordon grabbed his bulletproof vest, and after some hesitation, despite the obvious, his gun, as well. Hopefully I won't need it.

That night, Gordon learned an important lesson. Expect the unexpected.

He left his men searching the streets and went up to the roof of some abandoned apartment building. He stood, leaning on the edge, thinking, breathing in the cool evening air, when a noise behind him made him whip out his gun, and whirl around.

His heart nearly stopped in surprise and astonishment.

"Batman?"

"Hello, Gordon." It was really him. He was alive and in working order.

"What - what are you doing here? You know I have the entire PD looking for you - " Damn, he wanted to slap himself. Why didn't he have anything better to tell Batman?

"Goddammit, I know." Gordon flinched. He didn't have to think very hard about the reason of Batman's sensitivity. Being shot at every night was obviously not a pleasant experience.

After a tense silence Batman spoke again. "How's the Joker?"

"Him? He's locked up pretty tight in Arkham Asylum. Who knows, though? He might be able to find some way to escape, run wild again..."

"But for now, he's secure."

"Yes."

"Good." A pause. "Anything else I should know?"

"You have enough on your mind."

There was a steely edge to Batman's voice. "Tell me."

"Nothing of significance, I swear. Just a bunch of petty crimes, the occasional murder... But..."

"But?"

Gordon hesitated. "With you marked as a murderer, and most of our strength being spent on the hunt, other criminals - they're getting more daring. Soon it'll escalate into something bigger, badder... For now, though, there isn't much going on."

More silence. Gordon shifted uncomfortably. Then, another unexpected sentence. "Don't bother looking for me next week."

"Why not?" Gordon was baffled.

"I won't be working," Batman replied bluntly.

"You mean - "

"I'll be taking a short rest. You should, too, Gordon."

"But - what will I tell the others? They might figure out - "

"You'll be able to handle it." Gordon knew he was right. He would be able to think of something.

Batman was already beginning to leave.

"Batman." Gordon said to him.

He turned back.

"You know what I have to do."

After yet another pause, Batman replied, "Yes, I do."

Gordon hated himself for doing it. He absolutely hated himself. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But his sense of duty was strong. He reached up to his lapel radio, slowly, slowly. "This Commissioner Gordon. I've spotted the Batman on the rooftop. Prepare for open fire." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the masked man leap from the rooftop, bizarrely majestic, and glide of into the night.

Shouts came from down below; then gunshots. Gordon cringed involuntarily. Let him be all right, let him be all right... He stood, rooted to the spot, until the gunfire died down and a lieutenant came looking for him.

"Commissioner! Are you all right? They said that the Batman appeared on this roof - "

"I'm fine." Gordon said flatly. "Did you hit him?"

The man looked down. "Unfortunately not, sir. He was too fast - "

"No need," Gordon said with an inward sigh of relief. When will this end? He wondered. When will Batman be redeemed? When will everyone find out the truth? When will Gotham recover?

Judging by the current circumstances, Gordon had a long wait ahead of him.


"A vacation?" The surprise was evident in Lucius Fox's face, despite his apparent attempt to hide it.

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. It was Alfred's idea - "

Fox shook his head. "Mr. Wayne," he said, looking at Bruce, "I think it's a fabulous idea. Frankly, you look terrible. I've been patching up your armor for weeks - I know the damage you've been sustaining, seeing the holes punched in the Kevlar. Clearly you need a rest. How long are you going to be gone for?"

"Just a week," Bruce replied. "We can't afford to arouse suspicion. It'll be obvious, very obvious, but I hope, not obvious enough. I assume my playboy act is good enough to fool most people like I've been doing for the last two years."

"I agree." Fox said. "No one will suspect anything - I'm sure of it."

"Well, then." Bruce glanced around. "Just one more accursed meeting, and I'm out of Gotham tomorrow. I'm going to be back next Friday."

"Good luck with 'the accursed meeting', then, Mr. Wayne. I'll see you next week."

"Yeah. Take care, Lucius."

"I'm more worried about you, Mr. Wayne," Fox joked.

Bruce grinned. "It's only a yacht. And no bikinied ballerinas this time - " A man, presumably from some other big company, interrupted their conversation.

"Mr. Wayne?" Bruce nodded and shook hands. "The meeting's about to begin."

"Goodbye, Lucius." Bruce said as he passed Fox.

"Same to you." For some ominous reason Fox felt the tiniest of fears taking root in his mind. Only a yacht. No ballerinas. Something else made Fox afraid. He just had the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

What are you worring about, anyway? Bruce can take care of himself. Besides, Alfred's probably going with him...

But through the rest of the day, that fear wouldn't leave his head, no matter how hard he tried to banish it. And as Fox knew - his instincts were never wrong. But what could he do? Bruce's vacation was none of his business. His job was to take care of Wayne Enterprises, just as Bruce had trusted him to do so. And that was that.

Fox sighed, smoothed down his suit, and took the elevator to his office.


Warm sunlight... The cool breeze... The gentle rocking motion of the yacht... And best of all, no one to bother him.

So perfect.

He had sunglasses on, with his shirt carelessly hanging open, for there was no reason to be cautious about his scars. Today Alfred hadn't bandaged the wounds, as he declared that they had healed enough to be left alone for a while. Bruce was glad, without the sufforcating gauze tightly wrapped around his chest. It was pleasant to have the sunlight soaking his bare skin.

Bruce had never been happier since... Since when? He couldn't remember a time when he was actually happy. Happiness. It was something far beyond his reach. But it was a price that had to be paid. Bruce had chosen this path, and besides, he had the feeling that his life wouldn't be a very bright one, the moment Joe Chill came at his parents with that gun.

This was good enough.

No one to worry about. No cops, no dogs. No flying bullets or press conferences. After the headache of disguising himself, his injuries, and his genuine self, this was heaven. No, better than heaven. And it was also beneficial for Commissioner Jim Gordon. The thought pleased Bruce, because, strangely enough, Bruce felt incredibly sorry for Gordon - despite the fact that his men were riddling him with bullets every other week.

Alfred came to him, carrying a tray of lemonade. Bruce took a sip, closed his eyes contentedly for a moment. He opened them again, and said to Alfred,

"You should relax, too."

"I will, sir. Right after I make another serving of lemonade."

"I don't need any more - "

"For myself, Master Wayne. I am a human being and I do need something to drink."

Bruce grinned. "Go ahead, then. But I want you to have a rest, too, Alfred - you look tired."

"Well, I have been trying to keep up with you all this bloody time," Alfred replied wryly as he turned his back on Bruce, carrying the tray.

"Sorry." This was a genuine apology. Bruce knew how difficult it must have been for Alfred, as well has him.

"No need, sir."

Later Bruce found himself thinking about what he would do once he got back to Gotham. He knew, even with this wonderful vacation, he couldn't continue being hunted, chased, for the rest of his career. He had to do something. But what? His stupid brain just couldn't come up with the answer. So what if he had gotten tutored by the best teachers and went to Princeton, if he couldn't solve this? Bruce wished that his break would never end. He didn't want to evade police fire and fight criminals at the same time, he was tired of being blamed for crimes he never commited. He was simply tired. He wasn't sure for how much longer he could endure; he was positive that someday soon, he would snap. And that would be a true disaster.

Let's not think about things like that. Let's enjoy this. Bruce told himself, and that was exactly what he did. Soon he had dozed off, drowsy with comfort - completely unaware.

Unaware of what? He was about to find out.

Thanks for reading. I had to figure out the best way to depict that yacht bit - I agree that it is an incredibly ehm, sexy image. I loved that scene in TDK, with BALE on the yacht...

Ah, sorry. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'll try and update ASAP (as soon as possible) and AOAP (as often as possible). Reviews are my life! XD